


Easy Does It

by casco



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, Wayhaught - Freeform, Wayhaught smut, wynonna earp - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:48:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27042985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casco/pseuds/casco
Summary: An AU where Nicole has some major baggage, is going through a divorce, and Waverly is alone, nearly homeless, and is a sex worker.I want to make it clear that I am NOT overly familiar with sex work on a whole and it is never my intention to misportray nor look down upon the field.Also, this is written in 1st person. That’s just how I write - give it a chance.
Relationships: Waverly Earp & Nicole Haught, Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught
Comments: 35
Kudos: 202





	1. Starting Over

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is going to be….different! This story is going to VERY LOOSELY follow a vague version of the plot of the show, but I think it will be clear straight away that things are much different. I’ve changed things and twisted things as needed to follow the storyline I’ve chosen to create for this fic. 
> 
> These first few chapters will be mostly about setting the scene. If questions are left unanswered, I (most likely) have a plan to fill in the gaps in upcoming chapters. 
> 
> If you aren’t finding this from my other fic, Again, then go to my profile and check it out!
> 
> PS. 10 points if you notice the song lyrics I’ve snuck in here!

My head tilts forward and begins to fall towards my steering wheel. Reflexively, when my body realizes there’s nothing catching me, the muscles of my neck tighten up and my head snaps back upright. My eyes open as I’m jerked out of my almost-sleep. Which is good, because I’m cruising down a dark, poorly lit road going somewhere around 65mph. When I say poorly lit, I mean my high beams are the only light and I haven’t seen a street lamp for the past 20 miles, and when I say somewhere around 65mph, I mean 80mph. 

I’m a cop, and I shouldn’t be speeding, but god, I’m just so tired of driving, and I have enough experience to know that it’s highly unlikely anyone would be out patrolling this dusty lonesome stretch of interstate. It’s something I’ll keep in mind when I start work at the beginning of the week. 

Calamity Jane mews from her carrier which is nestled in the passenger seat beside me, the seat belt awkwardly stretched over the top and across the front door to ensure that she would be secure no matter what might happen. We’ve been on the road for almost 13 hours, and I’m sure she’s just as hungry, thirsty, and tired as I am. And I’m sure she needs to pee just as bad, too. 

Today was the 4th and final day of our trip from San Antonio, Texas, to a little town called Purgatory. I’ve driven nearly 12 hours each day, but got hung up in traffic early this morning which has us now pushing 14 hours without stopping for more than gas and a granola bar along the highway. If I had had more time, I would have loved to have taken a couple of weeks to make the trip, to be able to drive more reasonable stretches and stay in a hotel and explore some states I’d never ventured to, traipse around national parks. Alternatively, while that’s pretty much my dream vacation, I would have also preferred flying over this, but I was unable to get any short notice flights in time that also had room for Jane. 

So here I am, exhausted, hungry, and honestly, really smelly, about to enter the town I must now call home and see the house I purchased sight unseen from a realtor who could only be described as sketchy. It wouldn’t surprise me if there was no house at all, frankly, or if the house was in much worse condition than it had been in in the pictures I’d been emailed. My GPS guides me towards the house and I follow the directions, much slower now as I wind through the sleepy town. It’s nearly 4am so I didn’t expect much, if any, activity, but it’s almost eerily still and silent, save for the sound of coyotes howling in the distance. It’s a good indicator that my night shifts will be easy, at least. 

The house - my house - to my surprise, is exactly as it was advertised, at least on the outside. Light blue siding stretches up the tall exterior, black shutters lining the windows. A large, surely hundreds-of-years-old oak tree sits proudly in the front yard just to the left of the house, it’s branches nearly touching the roof. Sure, it could use a power wash and the gutters need to be cleaned, but it seems to be in good condition. I pull up to the end of the driveway closest to the house and reach to the passenger seat to grab my backpack, which holds my necessities like soap, tooth brush, tooth paste, pajamas, and so forth. Then I unstrap Jane’s carrier, before exiting the car and slinging my backpack over my shoulders before retrieving Jane from the passenger side. I’ll have to come back out and get her litter box, bowls, and food, but I plan to leave everything else in the car until morning. Well, it is morning, but until after I take a quick nap for a few hours. 

Calamity Jane hisses at me through the metal grate of her carrier door as I set her down on the counter, likely infuriated that I haven’t released her from the contraption yet, but I don’t want to risk her getting loose in the middle of the night in an unfamiliar place. So I make her wait until I’ve retrieved her things from the car and lock up the door behind me. As soon as I open the crate, she bursts out, then stops dead in her tracks on the hardwood floor as if only just now realizing we aren’t in our apartment back in Texas. She remains frozen for several seconds, then stalks off down the hall as I set up her things in the kitchen until I can find a better, permanent place to put them. 

I take a deep breath, running my hands over my face and over my hair that’s pulled back into a high ponytail, the bottom layers of my hair not long enough to reach and therefore spilling out over my neck. I want to shower, but I also really want to lay down. The need for sleep overrides any desire for cleanliness at the moment. I eye the couch in the living room - normally I would never think about keeping used furniture in my home (personal preference) but I cannot deny the solace the sofa brings me as I walk over to it and plop down. 

This isn’t ideal - really, nothing about this situation is ideal. But it’s better. It’s a fresh start. In this situation, I know I’m a beggar, and I know I can’t be a chooser. 

* * *

  
  


_ 6 weeks ago _

_ It’s my 3rd cup of coffee, and the 5th time I’ve said I’m sorry. The sun slowly peeking through the glass says we’ve been up all night. We both know where this is going - it’s been a long time coming.  _

_ “Nicole,” Shay whines. Or, begs, I should say. Shay begs. “Baby, please. Don’t make me do this. Don’t make me have to walk away from you. From us. So many years….” she trails off, looking at me with eyes brimming with tears. Eyes that once captivated my heart and soul.  _

_ “I’m not making you do anything,” I say softly. I don’t think she hears me as she starts to pace the room. Instead, she takes my silence as an answer, which has the same effect as what I said, anyway.  _

_ “You’re never going to get better, not working that job. Don’t you want to fix us? Don’t we matter to you? I’m your wife, Nicole!” She raises her voice and I flinch. I see the conflicted look in her eyes as she registers my reaction; she wants to be mad, to point out that that is exactly what she’s talking about, but she doesn’t want to hurt me.  _

_ She loves me, and she cares about me, but there’s nothing she can do. There’s nothing I can do. There’s nothing we can do.  _

_ I got put on the special victims unit almost 5 years ago. It was rare for a rookie to land a position in the unit, but I worked my way up the ranks quickly until they recruited me in. 2 years in, I was offered the chance to go undercover in the Ozarks of Missouri and try to help bust a sex trafficking ring. Everyone knows the risks of going undercover. I just thought that wouldn’t be me, that my life wouldn’t be destroyed, that I wouldn’t forget who I am….that it wouldn’t ruin my marriage.  _

_ Shay hadn’t wanted me to do it in the first place. There’s no end date to undercover operations - you either are successful and the mission is completed or you get pulled out for one reason or another. And Shay had been itching to start a family right around the time I was offered the spot. But she also knew me well enough to know I’d never forgive myself, or her, if I didn’t accept. It was exactly the opportunity I’d been waiting for all my life. There really was no question as to whether or not I’d accept the offer. _

_ Shay and I had gotten married impulsively when I was brand new to the area and to the force. I was barely 21 years old at the time and a one night stand turned into my wife of 6 years in what seems like the blink of an eye. She was one of the best things that ever happened to me. Even now, as I look at her and know that I have to let her go, I can admit that.  _

_ “I love you, Shay,” I tell her. I hate the flash of hope I see on her face as she pauses her pacing, surprised I’m speaking. It’s not something I do much of these days. “But I….I’m not me anymore. I can’t be what you need. I can’t take care of you. We’ve tried and tried for months and here we are,” I say, gesturing between us, referring to us having this conversation for what felt like the 100th time.  _

_ “You swore this wouldn’t happen!” Shay exclaims, now openly crying. “You promised me I wouldn’t lose you!” _

_ I want to go to her, comfort her, but I can’t. I went through a lot in my time under cover, a lot that she doesn’t even know about, and situations of intense emotion and energy like this just cause me to shut down now. If I had a therapist, they’d probably link it to PTSD. That’s what I assume it is, anyway. The department has made me go through a few weeks of mandatory therapy before returning to the force, but therapy only works if you want it to work; if you'll let it work. I know one day I’ll have to face the things that I went through, that I did, that happened to me. But I have no idea when I feel like I’ll be ready to do that, and for now, even the thought of it makes me feel like I’ll unravel completely. For now, I’m in self preservation mode.  _

_ “I know,” I say sadly, quietly, looking at my feet, at anything but her standing there with tears streaming down her face, begging me to help her, to make things better. “I...I don’t know if I’ll get better. I just don’t know, Shay. I don’t know if I’ll ever be the old me. What I do know is that work gives me a sense of purpose. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do, since I was a little girl. I can’t just walk away because things got...fucked up,” I say, for lack of better words.  _

_ “I can’t keep living like this!” she yells. I wince, taking a few steps back, hoping she won’t notice the movement. “How many more years do I wait? How long do I put my life on hold? I spent years not even knowing where you were half the time, Nicole! Years! And I tolerated it, told myself it was just your job, that things would go back to normal eventually. But here we are - this is supposed to be the going back to normal part! It’s been 6 months since you were dismissed and it’s the same as it was the first day you came back. You’re not you. You’re a shell of yourself and you won’t even do anything about it! All you do is work!” _

_ I know I should say something. Her eyes are begging me ‘please say something right now’. _

_ But I’ve got nothing. No magic words, to stop her leaving, to end this hurt. I’m just blank, staring into space, thinking please, please let me think of something. But I’ve got nothing.  _

_ Less than an hour later, I watch her as she packs her things. She looks down at her ring, slowly slips it off, and lays it on our bed. Maybe I should pick it up - get down on my knees. Tell her what she wants to hear, give her what she needs…. _

_ But I’ve got nothing.  _

* * *

  
  


I fly upright, heart racing before my eyes even open. When they do, I scan my unfamiliar surroundings and at first, my heart drops. Where am I? Then, seconds later, I remember. I’m home. I’m safe. I repeat that to myself in my head several times before my heart rate finally starts to slow and my breathing regulates. 

I look at my watch and see that it’s 7:30am, so I’ve been asleep for about 3 hours. I can tell, thanks to the adrenaline that just coursed through my veins for literally no reason, that there’s no way I’m going to fall back asleep. Especially since I know I have to unload my car and try to get settled in here before I start work in 2 days, on Monday. 

Calamity Jane jumps up onto the back of the couch and rubs against my shoulder, reminding me that I’ve yet to feed her breakfast even though I did feed her when we first got here only a few hours ago. For the sake of getting her back on a somewhat regular feeding schedule, I cave, and head over to the kitchen to open a can of her wet food and dump it in her bowl. She does figure eights through my legs while I do so, purring loudly and happily. I smile as I set down her bowl and think about how thankful I am to have her with me, a familiar friend here in this strange new place. 

Absentmindedly, I rub the place on my left ring finger that’s now empty. It’s yet to feel normal naked, and it’s a great constant reminder of how badly I’ve managed to fuck up my life. But that’s why I’m here. To start over, to reinvent myself, to rediscover myself. I survey my house now that it’s light out - even more so thanks to the fact that I have no curtains or blinds yet. I take a deep breath and make a quick mental plan for the day. 

First, unload the car. I only have a few suitcases - I didn’t take much more than my clothes from my house with Shay. Then, find somewhere to get breakfast, since I don’t have anything to eat and haven’t eaten in almost 18 hours. And finally, try to one-stop-shop to furnish my entire home. Two of those things are realistic goals and one is not - but I’ll tackle that when I get there. I literally have nothing - no cleaning supplies, no plates, no cutlery, no blankets, no bed, no fridge, no oven…..nothing. Just my couple suitcases of clothes, my cat, my car, and this big old empty (except for the smelly, lumpy sofa) house. 


	2. Final Straw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking at him, I feel nothing, and the nothingness is almost more painful than anger would have been. It’s easier to be angry, to be hateful, but to look at the only person you had left in your corner and feel nothing, to know that it’s concretely over, is something in and of itself. It’s a dreadful feeling of loneliness that overtakes me, although I try my best to replace it with anger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *If you're new to my writing and not used to the pattern I typically follow, this chapter is now from Waverly's perspective**
> 
> I had this chapter written at the same time as the first. However, yesterday when I was going to post it, I suddenly decided I didn't like it and rewrote it. Which means most of the rest of the story I had planned out is different now, too. So I hope I made the right call!
> 
> I'm lucky enough to have never had to deal with the legal system extensively, so I'm sure I've made a few errors/written things that don't exactly add up. Please just ignore them as they are relatively insignificant to the story.

I lean my forehead against the cool glass of the window of the Uber I’m in. The sound of the pouring rain pounding against the roof of the car creates a calming white noise, and my eyes are half shut as I watch droplets of rain roll down the window. It’s a short drive back to the homestead, but I’m exhausted and finding it hard to stay awake. 

I’m also really drunk, which doesn’t help. 

I’m excited to go home to the comfort and warmth of my bed. But I’m dreading having to deal with Champ even more, to the point that I would give up my bed if it meant I didn’t have to see his stupid face tonight. 

_ Champ _ . He moved in with me at the homestead about a month after Wynonna got locked up, about 9 months ago, when it was becoming clear we weren’t getting her back as quickly as we had originally thought. She pissed off the wrong cop after getting pulled over for driving while intoxicated and ended up being charged with assaulting an officer and resisting arrest. Because she wasn’t in Purgatory when it happened, Nedley can’t do much of anything to help her.

The homestead is a lonely, spooky place to live all by yourself, so I was grateful that he offered to stay with me and help with maintenance and such, and keep me company. I am still grateful, I guess, but it turns out if your relationship isn’t great  _ before _ you move in together, it doesn’t get better once you do. 

Half the reason I let Champ move in with me was so he could help with the bills. There’s no mortgage on the homestead obviously, but my savings got obliterated by Wynonna’s legal fees and I still need food and to keep the lights on and the heat on and all that fun stuff. Working at Shorty’s I make okay money, but not enough to live comfortably on my own. 

But it  _ also _ turns out that a bronc rider who’s already had his 15 minutes of fame and hardly competes anymore, and hardly wins when he does, isn’t exactly raking in the cash. Whatever money he does make, he pretty quickly squanders away gambling, and we’ve had more than one fight about him using my money to go out on the weekends with his buddies, too. I think moving into the homestead did him a bigger favor than he did me, honestly. 

Now, my Uber driver pulls his car up the long driveway, and I suddenly wish I had told him to take me anywhere else. 

“Thank you so much!” I say as I get out of the car. I’m instantly drenched as I step out into the torrential rain, even though I scurry to the porch as quickly as I can. I fumble with my keys in the door, and just as I’m about to turn the knob, it flies out of my hand as the door whips open. 

“There you are!” Champ exclaims. He stands blocking the doorway, so I squeeze in past him, a chill settling in my body as my wet clothes stick to my skin. I flinch as he slams the door shut roughly behind me. “Do you know what time it is? Where the fuck have you been?” He demands. 

As if he doesn’t know - as if I would have been out at all if it weren’t for him. 

**_4 months earlier…._ **

_ “Really, Champ? You emptied out my checking account because you had a  _ feeling  _ about a fricken horse race?” _

_ He’s calm, infuriatingly so. He sips his beer and places it down on the table, eyeing me with a blank expression as he sits there at the kitchen table, man spreading an all. I think I hate him at that moment.  _

_ “This is it, Champ! You can’t keep doing this!” I yell, throwing my hands up in exasperation. “They’re going to shut the lights off! How am I supposed to pay the bill now? I don’t get paid for 2 weeks!” _

_ He murmurs something unintelligible under his breath and shakes his head. Because he can’t use his big boy words and talk to me like an adult.  _

_ “What did you just say?” I demand.  _

_ “I  _ said,”  _ he starts, attitude already our of control, “That there’s only one of us here who could just go out at any time and make us some good money. It isn’t that easy for me to find work, Waves, but you….you’re just sleeping on opportunities.” _

_ I furrow my eyebrows, taken aback by his response. “And what is that supposed to mean?” I ask, genuinely curious because I have no idea what he’s talking about. “What opportunities am I sleeping on?” _

_ “Well, you know my buddy Matt? His girlfriend is like, an escort or something. There’s some guy in the city she works for, and he sets her up to basically be these old dude’s sugar baby for the night. They go on dates and…. other stuff. She makes a lot of money, like sometimes a thousand bucks for just one night.” _

_ I let the weight of his words sink in as he sits in his chair, looking at me like he’s expecting me to thank him for his brilliant idea, arms crossed over his chest. “And you’d want me to do that?” I ask him slowly. “You’d be okay with me being with other men?” _

_ “Well, Matt says that they don’t  _ always  _ have sex. Sometimes it’s just do these rich old dudes can have some arm candy to impress their friends when they go to banquets and stuff. But, I mean, I know you’re mine. And if it means we could have more money, then I’d be okay with it.” _

_ So if he has more money to gamble and spend on drinking, he’s okay with renting me out to other guys, basically.  _

_ I gritted my teeth so hard they audibly squeaked. “Absolutely not.” _

  
  


My resolve had held up for a short while. Until Champ started racking up my credit card debt, threatening my impeccable credit score, and they really  _ did  _ turn the lights off. I’d swallowed my pride and told Champ I was ready to talk to Matt and his girlfriend about becoming an escort, and things took off from there. 

Now, the lights are on and I’m working on paying back the lawyers and paying off my credit cards, but even with additional income things are still tight. Men will pay more for a woman willing to do more, but I’m not ready to cross that line just yet, so I get less job offers, less money. 

And then there’s the fact that Champ loves to play this game, like he didn’t come up with this idea himself, like he isn’t living off of the money I make. Living off of the money I earn by giving up small pieces of myself that I know one day, are going to amount to something I’ll never be able to replace. 

“Were you with  _ him _ again?” He asks, getting right up in my face. I can smell the alcohol on his breath. Fighting while we’re both drunk is never good; I get too sensitive and he gets too mean. 

He’s referring to one of my only consistent customers, a man named Ryan Gates. He’s a nice enough guy - 52, divorced, salt and pepper hair, 6’2”ish, cares about his physical appearance and keeps in shape. He’s successful and smart as a whip but has a temper to boot, which is probably the reason he needs an escort and doesn’t have a family or anyone to attend his work events with him or keep him company on the weekends. 

“Ryan, you mean? The guy who singlehandedly supports your stupid nights out with your friends? Your gambling habit?” I counter. The guy who takes me out on all sorts of fancy dates and buys me little tokens showing he’s been thinking of me through the week. The guy who, honestly, takes better care of me the few times I see him than Champ ever has. 

Champ is silent for a moment, just standing there, breathing heavily in my face in a way that starts to make me feel claustrophobic. Then he does something new; he reels back a hand and hits me, his hand connecting with the side of my face with a sickening  _ thud _ . “Don’t talk to me like that! Don’t talk about  _ him _ like that!” He yells, hand raised as if he might go in for another. 

I cower away from him, my hand rising to touch the stinging place on my face where his hand connected with my jaw and cheek bone, while he turns around and goes over to the kitchen table. In mature-adult fashion, with one sweep of his arm he sends everything on it flying to the ground. Once he’s done that, he turns around and stares at me with wide, wild eyes. 

That’s when I notice how dilated his pupils are, and suddenly it all makes sense. He’s always been a jerk, he’s always had a temper, but he has never laid a hand on me before; this is uncharacteristic of him, to lash out at me like this for basically no reason. 

He’s on something, something other than whiskey. 

“What are you on?” I ask? My voice is awfully confident for someone who’s backed into a corner, cradling their cheek with a hand, speaking to a man a full foot taller and 100 pounds heavier who is most definitely on some type of drug...or drugs. 

“I’m not on anything!” He screams, vein in his forehead bulging as he clenches his fists, contradicting him. “I’m just tired of you talking about him like he’s better than me! I’m tired of you making me feel bad about everything and being such a  _ bitch _ to me!” He steps towards me, the muscles of his jaw flexing visibly. There’s nothing subtle about his posture, the way he looms over me, daring me to say something other than  _ I’m sorry, Champ, please forgive me.  _

And normally that’s what I might have said, I might have said what I needed to to defuse the situation, to not jeopardize my relationship with him because he’s literally all I have. But he’s crossed a line tonight, between the fact that he’s high and hitting me, and the alcohol in my veins is making me a little braver than normal. 

All of that, and he has the audacity to say, “If you want to blame someone, blame Wynonna. She’s the one who left you alone. Not me. I’m the one who’s here. But all I ever hear is Wynonna this, Wynonna that, and what do I get? Bitched at for spending a little money now and then? It’s ridiculous!”

There’s a pause, a silence that hangs heavily in the air. 

“”I want you out,” I say. Too quietly, so I repeat myself, louder. “I want you  _ out _ . Get your things and get out of my house. Now.” I continue, letting my anger and disappointment seep into my voice. My words are sharp in a way they so seldom ever are and it feels like they cut my throat and tongue and lips as they leave my mouth. 

He stands dead still for a few seconds, letting my words and the venom they’re laced in sink in, the finality of them not going unnoticed by either of us. Then, without warning, he lunges forward, wrapping one of his large hands around my throat, slamming me back into the wall that I had started to creep forward from. He presses down, hard, and instinctively I try to pry his fingers from around my throat. 

It’s no use though. I make choked gurgling noises as I try to get even a tiny bit of air into my lungs while Champ stares straight into my eyes. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says slowly through gritted teeth, pulsing his grip on the last word so hard that my vision starts to go black around the edges, my head feeling fuzzy. “You couldn’t make it without me, Waverly. So cut the shit. This little act - that’s all it is. An act. You need me.” He says. 

My grip on his hand is pathetic now, the strength drained from my body as blood fails to circulate to my brain, air fails to get into my lungs. I slump down, my legs unable to support me. “I’ll always be here, Waves. Always.” 

He leans forward and kisses me just as I lose consciousness. 

  * \- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - -



  
  


When I wake, I’m disoriented. Why am I on the floor in the corner of the kitchen? Why is my head pounding? Why does my neck hurt so bad?

I’m disoriented for a blissful count of ten before the fog clears and I remember how my night has gone. Sleep has helped pass the time, clear the alcohol from my system to allow me to think more coherently. When I get up, I do so carefully - aware of how angry my body is at how it has been mishandled, pumped full of brandy and gin and then strangled and assaulted all in relatively quick succession. This is going to be one hell of a hangover. 

I’m acutely aware of the muffled snoring I hear from the living room. Once I’ve unfolded my crumpled self up off the floor, I pad quietly over to assess the scene. There’s Champ, sprawled out on the sofa, a bottle of beer balancing precariously in his sleeping hands. The same hands that nearly killed me...how long ago? I glance at the clock and see that it’s nearly 4am. I arrived home somewhere around 1am, so I’d been out for a few hours. 

Looking at him, I feel nothing, and the nothingness is almost more painful than anger would have been. It’s easier to be angry, to be hateful, but to look at the only person you had left in your corner and feel nothing, to know that it’s concretely over, is something in and of itself. It’s a dreadful feeling of loneliness that overtakes me, although I try my best to replace it with anger. 

I step away from the living room then, grab my phone out of the purse I had left on the kitchen counter, and step outside. Luckily the storm has died down to something between a drizzle and mist, so the roof of the porch is able to keep me dry without wind driving the rain in sideways. I sit on the top step and call the police station. 

“ _ Officer Dolls speaking, how may I help you _ ,” a man’s voice says after a few rings. 

“I….” I start. I probably should have thought about what I was going to say. “I n-need my boyfriend to l-leave, and he won’t…” I say, stuttering. My voice is squeaky and raspy and doesn’t sound my own at all. 

“ _ Who am I speaking to? Are you in danger, ma’am? What’s your address? _ ”

“Waverly. Waverly Earp. No, I don’t think so...not anymore…” I tell him, before listing off my address, feeling very much so as if I’m in a dream. 

“ _ We’ll be there in a few moments, ma’am. If you can, step outside until we arrive. Do not engage with him. We’ll sort things out when we get there.” _

I hit the red end button on my phone and hang up, placing it down on the damp wood beside me and stare out into the night sky. The moon peaks through occasionally, when the clouds allow it, and in that moment I miss Wynonna more than I have in months, perhaps in the entire time since she’s been gone. 

I take a deep breath and then let my head sink into my hands, waiting to see the flashing red and blue lights in the distance. 


	3. Rookie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Officer Haught and Officer Dolls save the day.

Being a rookie is never fun. 

I shouldn’t say never. It might be considered fun straight out of academy, when everything is still bright and new and shiny. When you know your place is at the bottom and rightfully so - you’re just a kid. That’s how I had felt about being a rookie when I first started. I was thankful for the opportunity to have a clean slate, to be able to work my way up, eager to earn respect. 

Now, it’s infuriating. I have more experience and knowledge and frankly, sense, than probably 75% of the force in this small town. Even the old timers here haven’t seen half of what I have. But still, because I’m new and I’m relatively young and, even more infuriatingly so, because I’m a  _ woman  _ I’m being treated as if I’ve never worked a shift as an officer in my life. 

“Sup, Rook.” I look up from the pile of paperwork on my desk to see Dolls, my only comrade here, sauntering through the door. He’s holding two paper cups of coffee in his hands, and he sets one down on the corner of my desk as he heads to his own, which is behind mine and to the left. I grab it greedily and hold it in my hands, allowing the heat to seep into the chilled bones of my fingers. The difference in weather from Texas to Canada is still taking some getting used to, and the station is always so damn cold. Even between the cold and the coffee, I still find it hard to stay awake my entire graveyard shift. Being able to get off desk duty would be helpful, far less boring, but apparently I haven’t earned that privilege yet. 

Dolls was the rookie here until I came along, relieving him from the confines of stigma and stereotypes. That’s why he’s the only one who feels sympathy for me, and the only one who understands what it’s like. He wasn’t a true rookie when he came here, either. Hell, the guy, from what I can tell, is a good enough officer that he could potentially even give me a run for my money. 

“Oh, god, thank you,” I tell him, just before I put my lips to my cup and take a sip. The coffee is scaldingly hot, but I down a few mouthfuls anyway, wincing as it scorches its way down my throat. I glance at the clock on the wall, it’s black arms moving excruciatingly slow. If I didn’t know better, I might even say they move backwards, or not at all. It still says 3am even though I swear it said that 30 minutes ago. 

“How long are they going to keep this up?” I ask him after a few moments, swiveling in my chair to face him as I continue to sip on my coffee. I gesture at my desk, which is swamped with paperwork that hasn’t been filed in months. 

Dolls laughs, spinning to face me as well, clasping his hands behind his head as he stretches his legs. “It won’t be that long, Red. There’s really not much to do overnight, anyway. And they can’t keep you on graveyard forever. How long have you been here now?”

“This is my third week!” I say, letting my exasperation show as I throw my hands in the air hopelessly. “Not so much as a traffic stop! And look!” I say, rummaging through the stacks of paper on my desk. “These are from last year, Dolls.  _ Last year _ . It’s literally just busy work.”

“Huh, three weeks already? You must have pissed Nedley off.”

“How? I never see him!”   
  


“Hey, I’m just spitballing here, Rook,” he says, holding his hands up defensively. 

I groan and put my forehead down on the edge of my desk dramatically and Dolls laughs and starts typing away on his computer again. I know he’s right and that eventually I will start doing actual police work again. It’s just hard, and I’m losing my patience. And my mind. 

See, the problem with mindless busy work is just that. It’s mindless, and my mind can never simply be still. Not anymore, at least. If I don’t keep myself occupied, if I remain too idle, I remember things I don’t want to remember. 

  
  
  


_ The night I came home should have been one of the happiest of my life. I’d been dreaming about it ever since I first was debriefed about my position on the team in the Ozarks. I was 100% certain that when I came home, it would be because I had successfully helped bring down one of the largest sex trafficking groups in the country. That I had been a part of the rescue of thousands of girls and prevented even more from falling prey to such a cruel and twisted fate.  _

_ But life had other plans for me. Instead, when I show up on the doorstep of the house Shay and I own together, I’m broken. Shattered into a million tiny, sharp, jagged pieces that just can’t possibly ever fit back together the same way again. And surely they’ll slice into anyone who might try, anyway.  _

_ Shay doesn’t know that, though. At least not at first glance. It’s a stormy night, which sets the mood perfectly. I’ve spent the last couple of days at the station, unable to leave, to begin to try to assimilate back into normal life, until I’d been properly debriefed and had med-eval. Upon said med-eval, they’d hospitalized me for a couple of days. I could have called Shay then, but I didn’t want to worry her. I didn’t want that to be our reunion. It was already screwed up enough.  _

_ The spare key to the house isn’t where it usually is, so I stand on the stairs in front of the front door while rain whips in at me, driven sideways by the wind, stinging my skin, and knock on the door. It’s late, past 11pm, so after a moment with no answer I start pounding, figuring she might be asleep. I don’t know what I will do if she doesn’t let me in. I have no real plan.  _

_ Luckily, she comes to the door. I can tell I've woken her up. Her dark hair is tousled and she is clutching the front of a black flannel bathrobe that cloaks her body. She only cracks the door enough to peek through and see who the hell is standing at her doorway at this hour. Normally I might have chastised her for opening it at all, but I let it slide, seeing as I was her wife and very eager to get out of the rain.  _

_ “Nicole?” she asks, dumbfounded, as if I might have been a mirage, and opens the door wide, ushering me inside. “What - what are you doing here?” _

_ “I’m done,” I say quietly, forcing a smile. “I’m back. It’s over.” _

_ Shay isn’t stupid. Even half asleep, she senses that something is up. This is supposed to be a glorious moment, afterall. I’m supposed to be sweeping her into my arms, supposed to be elated that I had succeeded, elated to be home. She’s supposed to be jumping into my arms after I walk out of the doors of the station because I was supposed to let my superiors call her and tell her when I would be released. But I am not any of those things. I am cold and tired and empty.  _

_ “I can’t believe it,” she says, reaching out to touch my elbow, thumb rubbing circles on my forearm. My eyes follow the movement warily, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Shay. She pauses and then withdraws her hand. “I’m so happy to have you home, baby. Are you okay?” _

_ I’m not okay, not even a little bit. I’ve been dismissed from the operation because they’d been concerned for my safety. Some other UC had ratted on me, I guess, after I’d gotten the snot beaten out of me as an initiation process into one of the inner circles of the trafficking ring. But the physical damage was nothing compared to what had happened to me mentally, emotionally. I’d had to give up some of my most personal values, broken promises I’d made to myself, crossed lines I swore I never would, allowed myself into situations I could never have dreamed of.  _

_ That’s not to say it wasn’t worth it, at least in my mind. I’d gotten further into the ring, gotten more information, than anyone ever had before. At least, further than anyone had ever made it and lived to tell the tale. But I’d given up so much of myself that I have no idea who I am anymore. There is no differentiating between the persona, Beth Roberts, my UC profile, and Nicole Haught anymore. All I knew was that I was now damaged and confused and lost.  _

_ All of those things flash through my mind when Shay asks ‘Are you okay?’ _

_ “Yes,” I lie. I’ve gotten really good at that, lying, in the past two years. I have virtually no remaining tells. But I’m still not good enough to trick Shay. Her eyes bore into mine, searching, searching, searching. I need to stop them before they find what they were looking for, because I am not ready to be confronted by it. _

_ So I do the first thing that comes to mind and lurch forward suddenly, my hands grasping onto her waist while I yank her body towards mine. I connect my mouth with hers so harshly and suddenly that I feel the air whoosh out of her in surprise. She is rigid against me for a few seconds before she gives in. I’ve been gone for 23 months and 11 days and I knew she would be deprived of this feeling of closeness, of intensity, of desire and passion. Just like I would be, if I could feel any of those things anymore. And so I prey upon it, to push off the inevitable just a little longer. Just for one night, until the morning.  _

_ It’s not something I’m proud of.  _

  
  
  


  * \- - - - - - - - - - - - -- 



  
  
  


“Nicole!”

  
Dolls’ voice snaps me out of my memories and I jolt upright, a few papers floating off of my desk from the sudden movement. 

“You sit there complaining about desk duty, and you’re going to ignore my offer to come on a call with me? Maybe that’s how you got stuck being the paperwork queen.”

“Huh?” I say dumbly. “What time is it?” I’d been really zoned out. 

“4am. I just got a call from the old Earp homestead. No one else is here now...so we can sneak you out onto a real life call, if we hurry.”

“Oh  _ hell  _ yes,” I say, understanding now. I stand up quickly from my desk and sling my department issued coat on as Dolls and I quickly walk out of the station, smiling innocently as we walk past the administrator at the front desk. 

Once we’ve made it out, I nearly skip to Dolls’ cruiser, feeling very much like a teenager sneaking out to go to a party. “So, what’s the call? Cat up a tree?” I ask. Things have been quiet around here the 3 weeks I’ve been here; the most exciting thing I’ve heard about was a bar fight that was broken up by the time any of our officers even got there. 

“Domestic dispute,” Dolls says. “I’ve heard about the Earp sisters, but never met them in person. They live out on the outskirts of town in no-man’s land. Wynonna, the older one, was a real nuisance around here according to Nedley...and everyone else. Before she got picked up for something out of state, been locked up since before I got here.” Dolls turns on the lights and we start winding through the sleepy town. Even though it’s Saturday, which was always a busy night in the city back home, there’s next to no one on the streets, so the lights are unnecessary, but they make me feel comforted. “The younger one, Waverly, lives on the homestead now with her boyfriend Champ. Waverly has never been an issue - she used to be a star cheerleader and quite the social butterfly, before everything happened with her sister, from what I’ve been told. I’ve seen her around town sometimes and she seems polite and harmless. Champ, though, has a few charges, minor things like bar fights and speeding. His reputation is more for cheating on Waverly and just being a general dirtbag of a person.”

I nod, absorbing the information. I’ve yearned for a chance to get to know this town and its people, to really become a part of it, but working only in the middle of the night inside the station doesn’t lend itself to many interactions. 

“Is he dangerous? What’s the situation?” I ask as we start to draw closer. I can see the dim yellow lights of the house in the distance. 

“I mean, I don’t know, but I don’t think so. Just be ready for anything.”

I nod. “As always.” I know Dolls is taking a chance on me, letting me come on this call with him. We aren’t partners and we’ve never worked together outside of the station before, and going to a domestic dispute call in the middle of the night doesn’t tend to be the most straightforward situation to walk into with someone you hardly know. I know with absolute certainty that I won’t let him down. 

When we roll up the bumpy dirt driveway leading to the house, I see a small woman sitting on the front steps and I get the gut feeling this might be a little more complicated than a simple domestic dispute. Dolls turns off the cruiser and I take a deep breath as we step out into the cool, damp night. 

The woman,  _ gosh, what did Dolls say her name was? _ stands as we approach and instinctively my hand moves to my holster, hovering there as my eyes struggle to adjust to the warm yellow light cast by the bulb under the porch. 

“Good evening, ma’am,” Dolls says. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

My eyes adjust, finally, and I can tell for certain that the woman is  _ not _ okay. Her face is swollen, eyes puffy like she has been crying, and there are angry red marks around her throat. This isn’t just a domestic dispute; it’s looking more like domestic assault. 

The woman sniffles, clearing her throat. “I...my boyfriend and I got into a fight.” She smiles weakly, a smile that doesn’t touch her eyes, and points to her face. “I asked him to leave, to move out, but he….he’s sleeping on the couch now and I…” She trails off, wringing her hands together in front of her nervously. 

“Are there any weapons in the house?” Dolls asks, glancing towards the door. 

“No,” the woman says. I’m still trying to recall what her name is, knowing Dolls just told me moments ago, but I can’t. 

“Okay. Waverly, I’m going to be honest with you, I can take him down to the station tonight, but he has two weeks to move out, by law, unless you press charges and file a restraining order. I’ll need you to come in to fill out paperwork - it can be in the morning, if you want, doesn’t have to be right now.”

_ Waverly _ , yes, that’s her name. 

“O-okay,” she sniffles. “I...I guess I’ll d-do that.”

God, I can tell how traumatized she is. I’ve seen so many women in this state, during my time undercover and during my time working in the city. Dolls nods and starts to head into the house, his hand firmly on his gun, which remains in his holster. I move to follow him, but he holds out his hand. 

“Just stay with her. You’ll hear me if I need you.” 

I don’t like the idea - he shouldn’t be going in without backup. I know he can see that written on my face, but he just gives me a nod and then heads into the house. I stand tensely by the front door, poised to run inside at the slightest indication of trouble. When I hear him speaking nonchalantly as he tries to wake the man inside up, I relax just a smidge. It’s typical for a man that would hurt his own girlfriend to suddenly be much more docile in the presence of someone his own size. 

It occurs to me then, now that it seems like the arrest is going to go smoothly and I’m less concerned about Dolls, that I should be checking on Waverly. It’s clear something happened to her from her battered face and shaking body. I also know that I should get her away from the door, so that when Dolls brings the boyfriend out he doesn’t have to parade him right by Waverly. 

“Why don’t we step around the side of the house while Dolls handles things in there,” I suggest to her. She nods and follows me as I go down the steps and position myself so Waverly is around the corner but I’m still able to see the porch and the cruiser in case Dolls needs assistance. 

“Are you new around here, Officer….?” Waverly asks. Her hand is rubbing the red marks on her throat absentmindedly. She looks me directly in my eyes and I get this odd sensation that I know her, somehow, even though I know that’s impossible. 

“Haught. Officer Haught,” I say, extending my hand for a shake. “I moved here a few weeks ago, but I haven’t gotten the chance to get to know the townsfolk yet I’m afraid,” I explain. Waverly nods, chewing on her lower lip. 

“Do you need to go to the hospital and get checked out?” I ask her, my eyes drawn to the red marks on her face and neck that seem to be turning darker and spreading further by the minute. I feel a pang of sadness for her, and the urge to comfort her, but I need to walk the fine line between being professional and being empathetic. 

“No, no,” she responds, waving a hand dismissively as she laughs shakily. “I’ll be fine. I’m fine.”

Just about as fine as I was the night I came home from the Ozarks, I presume. But I can’t make her be seen by a doctor if she doesn’t want to. 

“Do you have anyone you can call to stay with you for the rest of the night?” I ask her. “Your boyfriend will be locked up until at least midday, don’t worry - I just think it might help you feel more comfortable.”

I look past Waverly as movement catches my eye, and I see a handcuffed Champ being led out to the cruiser, Dolls sauntering along beside him. Then I look back at Waverly as she speaks. “No, there’s no one,” she tells me, eyes much sadder than her voice sounds. “But it’s alright, I’m awfully tired and I’m sure I’ll fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.”

“Alright,” I say. I can sense the heaviness of her words;  _ there’s no one.  _ It’s a feeling I’m very familiar with myself these days. Again, something deep inside me yearns to comfort her, to help her somehow, but I do my best to stamp it out as soon as I feel it. I do not need to become overly involved or attached to the first case I work here in Purgatory. I can’t - won’t - allow it. 

“Well, you’re all set to go back inside now, Waverly. I’m sorry for what’s happened here tonight. Come down to the station in the morning and someone will be sure to help you get the paperwork started and explain to you where it will go from here." I tell her as I walk her back to her front door. 

“Thank you for everything. You and Officer Dolls,” she says, gesturing towards the cruiser where Dolls is waiting for me. 

“Just doing our job, ma’am,” I say to her. I stand there as if my feet are nailed to the wooden planks of the porch beneath my feet, dumbly, just looking at Waverly, feeling like I need to say or do something else. I shove my hand into the pocket of my jacket and pull out a business card with my name and contact info on it. “Feel free to reach out to me directly if you need anything,” I tell her. “Try to get some sleep.”

I walk towards the cruiser, utilizing every ounce of my self control to not look back over my shoulder. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I apologize for the minimal editing. It was either get this up today or wait at least another week. I'm really enjoying writing this so I hope you're enjoying reading!


	4. Stranded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Listen here you little runny nosed brats, calling me like this clogs up the line for people who actually need help and if you call me one more freaking time I -”
> 
> “Officer Haught?” I ask as I get an earful over the speaker of my phone. 
> 
> “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry ma’am. I’ve been getting prank calls all night from these kids and….anyway, this is Officer Haught speaking, how can I help you?” I can’t help but smile at how relieved she sounds to be speaking to an adult and not some bored and annoying preteens. 
> 
> “Hi Officer. This is Waverly,” I say. “Earp, Waverly Earp,” I add quickly. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if I could hold you to your word when you said I could reach out to you if I needed anything.”

Having a whopping black eye and very clear I-was-almost-strangled-to-death bruises on your neck is  _ not  _ conducive to getting dates as an escort. It’s been almost 3 weeks since I was last able to work - 3 weeks since that whole night with Champ - and now, my bruises have finally faded enough that I can cover them with concealer and foundation. It’s not my best look, with what feels like ½ inch of makeup plastered on my skin, but it will do. 

My Uber pulls up outside of the high rise condo building Ryan lives in. Purgatory has always made me feel small, standing in wide open fields that stretch further than the eye can see. The city somehow makes me feel even smaller, especially as I stand on the sidewalk with buildings 20 or more stories high all around me. The sidewalks are abuzz with people who are totally oblivious to my existence as they brush by, caught up in their own worlds as they walk with hurried gaits. The Uber pulls away a few seconds after I’ve gotten out, merging in with the stop-and-go traffic that congests the streets during rush hour. 

I enter through the glass doors of the building and flash the guest badge Ryan has given me to the security at the front desk before heading to the elevator. The man looks at me and quickly remembers who I am and nods. Once inside, I hit the ‘PH’ button and type in the code when prompted in order to be taken up to the top floor where Ryan owns the penthouse condo. There’s really nothing about this guy that isn’t swanky. 

The elevator drops me off in a hallway, the only 2 doors in the hallway being Ryan’s ‘front’ and ‘back’ door. I walk over to the main entrance and knock 3 times, smoothing down the front of the skimpy black dress I’m wearing and running a hand through my hair. 

The door swings open after only a few seconds and Ryan is standing there in front of me, greying hair slicked back as usual. “You’re late,” he chides, glancing at the watch on his wrist, his eyes running up and down my body. “And what’s wrong with your face?” He asks. 

“Nice to see you too,” I respond with a laugh as he moves away to let me into the condo. “Don’t worry about my face. Tonight is all about you.” I tell him, slipping into work mode with only minimal effort. It’s beginning to feel like second nature. I walk over and put one of my hands on his chest, which is covered by the deep maroon button down he is wearing, and draw circles with my thumb. I feel him soften and begin to relax a little. He’s always a high strung kind of guy, but seems to be even more so tonight. 

He gives me a quick tight smile and nod at that, glancing down at my hand, and goes over to the expansive coat closet by his front door. He pulls out a black blazer which pairs nicely with his black slacks, and puts a heavier jacket on over the top of that. 

“Where are we off to tonight?” I ask him. He’s being weird and tense and a lot less talkative than normal, which is making me feel a bit uncomfortable. Maybe it’s because I haven’t seen him in a while. 

“Tonight we are going to a dinner,” he tells me. Typically Ryan will hire me for work events - banquets, gatherings, that type of thing - but we’ve gone to a few dinners before as well, with his friends from work. They’re a little trickier for me, because I don’t  _ actually _ know Ryan. I’ve gotten to know him, yes, but only what small part of his life he chooses to show me. I’ve made it clear that this is a working relationship, and I’ve been thankful that Ryan has felt the same way. But that means when it comes down to conversation, I don’t know much about his past, and I don’t know what he’s been up to all week before I see him for the weekend. 

Knowing this, he fills me in on the car ride over about the important stuff. He had to fire his secretary at work because she was withholding phone calls out of spite. One of his clients had backed out of a big deal and really fucked him over, which he’s still angry about. He brought his car in for an oil change and tune up and when he got it back, it had a ding on the door that wasn’t there before but the mechanics swear it was there when he brought it in. Pretty typical stuff.

Luckily, he doesn’t ask me about my life or how I’ve been or why I was unable to attend last weekend’s wine tasting with him even though he offered me more than enough money to do so. The thing is, normally he does ask me about how I’ve been and what’s going on in my life, but tonight he just keeps fidgeting with his tie and glancing at his phone, his hand on my thigh in a way that doesn’t bother me at all anymore. 

Ryan is easily my favorite date; I don’t know that I would choose his company normally, but out of all of the men I see, he is most respectful and intelligent and can actually hold a conversation instead of just ogling over me and groping me all night. It’s like I’ve landed a sugar daddy with none of the strings attached - just also with less money involved than if the strings were there, which is a compromise I’m willing to make. 

“Waverly, there is something I should tell you, about tonight.” 

I shift slightly in my seat to face him, running my fingers lightly over the back of his hand. He looks...stressed. 

“Tonight...we’re meeting my family. My children, and my ex wife.” He says. He says this while he’s looking out his window, but once the words are out he turns his head to look at me, gauging my reaction. He must know me at least a little by now, to be able to predict my reactions, to know that what he said would upset me. I can tell by the guilty look in his eyes. “I’ve been speaking with my lawyer and I may be able to get partial custody of them, if I can prove to them and my ex wife that I am stable and ready to do so. So I’d like it if you could help me out with that.” 

I stare at him, dumbfounded, not sure of how to feel or what to think. My gut instinct is  _ no. _ But I’m already in the car with him, ¾ of the way to the restaurant. 

“Chase, he’s 11. He’s a little bit of a wuss but he does really well in school. Love animals. Jana is 8, she’s a little tomboy. She’s on the school’s little league team and she plays the drums,” he tells me. I listen to him and I picture his kids and I know right then and there that I won’t do this, that I won’t lie to help a decision about their custody be made based on false information. This is going beyond a little white lie to make him look good in front of his friends and colleagues - this is affecting people’s lives. 

“Ryan, you really should have told me earlier,” I say, shaking my head. I withdraw my hand from his. He looks at his hand, now by itself, and then back up at me. 

“I’ve already told them you’re coming. They’re probably at the restaurant by now,” he says, as if it’s a done deal. But it’s not. I won’t do it. 

“I’m really not comfortable with this. Can’t you just tell them you got called into work? Or that I’m sick and couldn’t make it?”

“ _ No!” _ He booms, loudly enough that he gets a look from the taxi driver, who glances at me in the rear view mirror. It startles me and I flinch. “No,” he repeats in a more restrained voice. “I cannot do that and I will not do that. I’ve hired you for this and you’ll do as you’re told, do you understand?” He says, speaking through gritted teeth. God, I’m so sick of men using anger as a weapon whenever they don’t get their way. 

I’ve seen angry Ryan before, glimpses at least, but this is something else. He looks infuriated, like I’ve purposely wronged him, like I’m being unreasonable, like I  _ owe it to him.  _

I realize that the next words to leave my lips will probably burn my bridge with him and with it, the majority of my income. But I’ve simply had it. “No, I will not  _ do as I’m told _ , actually. I’m not comfortable with this and I won’t do it. It’s not right, it’s not fair to the kids or your ex, and I’m not sure it’s even legal.”

“Oh, yeah, because you of all people can sit there and talk to me keeping things legal,” he snaps. “If you’re not going to do this, then get out. I’ll not have them see you with me at all then.” I know instantly it’s because he’ll likely try to pull this stunt with another escort next weekend. “I’m serious,” he says, looking at me expectantly. “Driver, please pull over and let this  _ woman _ out.” He put an emphasis on  _ woman _ like it’s an insult, a dirty word. 

Well, that escalated quickly. The driver slows the cab down and pulls over and Ryan very unnecessarily and aggressively leans over me and shoves my door open. 

“I’m sorry this didn’t work out,” I say to him. “Good luck.” 

I shut the door and the cab drives off, and I’m standing alone in the city on a Friday night. If I were in a movie, it might be a dream come true. I might go shopping, or dramatically walk around by myself, or maybe even go bar hopping and meet the love of my life and live happily ever after. But I’m not in a movie. My heart rate is elevated from the stress of being in the back of a cramped taxi cab with an irrationally irate man, especially after my experience at the homestead with Champ, and it’s cold and I’m not dressed to be outside for extended periods of time. I’m dressed to be the arm candy of some middle aged man. 

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves, and pull out my phone. It’s only then that I realize I’m only at 7% battery - it must not have been charging when I had it plugged in earlier in the day. Great. That sucks, but it should be enough juice for me to log into Uber and get a ride back home. It will be expensive, but what other choice do I have? I have no idea how to use the bus system, and even then, buses don’t go into Purgatory very often. 

However, as I try to log in, I get a message  _ Error, we can’t log you in right now, please try again later.  _ “Shit biscuits,” I say under my breath, very much wanting to throw my phone onto the concrete sidewalk but also very much knowing I cannot afford a new one. Especially not now. 

The battery level ticks down to 6% and I know I need to figure something out fast. I’m in an unfamiliar place at night, suddenly feeling very self conscious about my choice of clothing, and standing here until I die is unfortunately not a viable option. Although I’m so cold I feel like it probably wouldn’t take all that long. 

An idea dawns on me, then, perhaps not my best idea ever, but an idea nonetheless. I rummage through my purse until I find it at the bottom, crinkled and folded but there - the business card Officer Haught had left with me before she left the homestead that night. When I had gone in the next day to file the paperwork about the incident with Champ, she hadn’t been there, but for some reason she’d floated in and out of my mind ever since. Maybe it’s the fact that I’d never heard a true American southern accent like hers before, or maybe it’s the way she felt like a calming, grounding force on what was one of the worst nights of my life. I know she was just doing her job, but I feel like we could be friends, if we ever got to spend time together. 

And I hope we do get to spend time together, because I have no one else to call and no other bright ideas. I squint at the phone number which is dangerously close to illegible thanks to all of the creases in the card, and type the number into my phone. 

“Listen here you little runny nosed brats, calling me like this clogs up the line for people who actually need help and if you call me one more freaking time I -”

“Officer Haught?” I ask as I get an earful over the speaker of my phone. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry ma’am. I’ve been getting prank calls all night from these kids and….anyway, this is Officer Haught speaking, how can I help you?” I can’t help but smile at how relieved she sounds to be speaking to an adult and not some bored and annoying preteens. 

“Hi Officer. This is Waverly,” I say. “Earp, Waverly Earp,” I add quickly. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if I could hold you to your word when you said I could reach out to you if I needed anything.”

“Hello Miss Earp,” she says. “Of course you can. Is there a problem? Is it Champ?” She asks. 

“Um, no.” I say. “See, I’m kind of stranded right now, in the city. I’m really sorry to bother you, I just didn’t know what else to do and my phone is about to die and I don’t have any way to get home and-”

She cuts off my nervous rambling. “Hey, it’s okay.” She says. “Technically you should call the local police in the city, I can’t come and get you there while I’m on duty. But I’m off shift in 15 minutes - do you think you could hang around that long? I could be there in about...40 minutes,” she says. 

“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about the fact that I’m not in Purgatory. I’ll….I’ll try to figure something else out. But thank you for offeri-”

“Waverly, really, I don’t mind. As long as you’re okay to wait that long. That’s about as fast as I can make it to the city without lights and sirens,” she says in an easy going manner. 

“As long as you really don’t mind, I would really appreciate it.” I tell her. I might be a popsicle by the time she gets here, but only time will tell. 

“Okay,” she says. “What’s your location?” 

“I’m at the corner of Broad and Allen,” I tell her. 

“Got it,” she says. 

“Oh, and my phone is going to die. So I might not be able to answer if you call or text. But I’m not going to move from here.” I tell her. “Thank you so much, I can’t even tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“No problem, Waverly. I’ll see you in 40 minutes.”

She hangs up the phone then. I shove my hands into my pockets, wishing I’d worn a coat that was actually warm, that I’d worn a hat and gloves and, well, pants. Should’ve would’ve could’ve, but I wasn’t planning on being stranded out on the sidewalk for nearly an hour. I look around and then walk towards the windows of a building, sitting on the little ledge in front of them as I wait. I begin to people-watch, but mostly I just zone out. 

And I don’t know why, but I feel nervous to see Officer Haught again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this boring? It felt kind of boring. Things will start picking up soon (in the next few chapters)! I just want to take the time for them to develop their relationship and set the foundation of this story.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On my drive home, thinking about how painfully awkward that situation was and all of the ways I could have happily chatted with Waverly instead of staring out the windshield with my jaw clenched and fingers white knuckled on the wheel, I decide on Monday I’m going to call a therapist. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Busy weekend so you're getting this a day earlier than I normally post instead of having to miss a week (cat's out of the bag about my secret posting schedule, I guess, lol). Sorry for any errors, as usual, I leave myself no time to edit. 
> 
> Thanks for all of the comments on the last chapter, ensuring me it wasn't boring and that you all appreciate the story-building that's happening in these less-intense chapters.

“Well, well, well,” I hear Dolls say from his desk as I hang up the phone. “Was that a personal call? That you took on the clock? Tsk, tsk,” he says, shaking his head with an overly dramatic scornful look on his face. 

He’s loud enough to draw Nedley’s attention as he is making his way back to his office. He’s begrudgingly let me off of graveyard a few nights a week and has started to let me work with Dolls, but I feel like it wouldn’t take much for him to revoke those privileges. One day, I’ll wear the man down and get him to like me. Today, thanks to Dolls, is probably not going to be that day. 

“Personal call?” The grey haired man asks, stopping in front of my desk with an expectant look on his face. 

“Uh, no, sir, it wasn’t a personal call,” I blurt out, feeling my cheeks turning red as I speak. Out of the corner of my eye I see Dolls’ eyes widen as he returns to working on his computer, mouthing  _ whoops _ as he does so. I make a mental note to throw some inanimate object at him as soon as I get the chance. Or maybe I’ll  _ forget _ the creamer in his beloved coffee the next time it’s my turn to pick it up on my way in to work. “It was, uh, Waverly. Earp. She can’t get a ride home and she’s in the city. I told her she could call the station there, or I can come get her once I’m off work. I’m sorry, sir, she called my number not realizing we don’t work in that area and I felt like I had to offer to help since she didn’t want to call the local police for a ride.”

“Hm,” Nedley responds shortly. Then he sighs. “Well, that doesn’t sound very much like a personal call,” he says, casting a look over at Dolls, who is suspiciously focused on his computer monitor. “It sounds like an officer trying to make a name for herself in this town and going above and beyond, helping a citizen in need off the clock, to earn their trust. Things like this help the people of this town feel a little more at ease with us, which is what we want. Go on, get out of here. Waverly is a nice girl, no need to make her wait. And take the cruiser for the night.” 

Well, that was unexpected. “Th-thank you, sir!” I stutter, surprised by his reaction. He offers a tight smile and nods his head before continuing on his way to his office. 

As soon as his door shuts behind him, I turn around and stick my tongue out at Dolls. He stares at me impassively, a talent of his, but then shakes his head as a smile threatens to emerge on his lips. “You heard the man, Haught. Go save the damsel in distress. And  _ do not _ mess up my cruiser.”

“Are you sure it’s  _ your _ cruiser?” I ask him as I snatch the keys off of his desk. “It’s starting to sound more like  _ our _ cruiser, you know, since Nedley is letting me take it now and all.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “See you tomorrow.”

I throw on my heavy winter jacket over my uniform jacket, slide on a pair of gloves and a hat, and then step out into the night. The air is cold, winter approaching quickly. It already feels as cold as it ever got in the Ozarks, and significantly colder than it gets in Texas, and it’s only October. 

I let the cruiser warm up for a moment while I enter the address Waverly gave me into the GPS. I consider texting her to let her know I’ll be there a little earlier than expected, but then I realize she called my desk phone, not my cell phone, so I don’t actually have her number. I suspect she won’t be upset to have to wait a little less. 

The drive into the city is uneventful. The road out of Purgatory is the same one I travelled not long ago to enter Purgatory; long and straight and perpetually quiet. I remember initially thinking it would be a good place for a speed trap, based on how badly I was speeding at the time, but now I realize no one patrols out here because hardly anyone uses this stretch of road. 

Driving in cities is never fun, but eventually, after what feels like 100 intersections and lights, and stopping at crosswalks for at least a thousand people to meander across streets in front of me, I reach the corner of Broad and Allen. I happen to see an open parking spot on the street close by the corner, and I zip into it before anyone else can beat me to it. 

A Purgatory cop car with a red head driving must stick out pretty badly, because not only do people cast glances in my direction as they walk by, but Waverly notices my arrival almost immediately even though I’m earlier than I said I would be. I almost don’t recognize her at first; I’ve only met her once, weeks ago, but I don’t usually forget a face. However, Waverly’s face looks  _ nothing _ like it did when I first met her. And seeing her in a dress, obviously dolled up for some reason or another, is almost enough for me to not recognize her at all. 

She looks amazing and I find myself staring at her nearly slack jawed as she walks up to the cruiser, arms folded over her chest as she stoops down to look through the window. “Officer Haught?” She asks timidly, flashing a blindingly white smile at me, something I also did not get the chance to see when I first met her. 

I fumble with the controls on the side panel of the door and unlock the car door. “Hey,” I say dumbly as she gets into the car. I notice then that she’s shivering, the muscles of her jaw clenching to try to keep her teeth from shattering. “Shit, I’m sorry,” I say as I spin the dial on the dash to crank up the heat. Without thinking about it, I slide out of my outer jacket, the heavier one, and hand it over to her. “Here, put this on.”

“No, no, it’s cold! You should keep it on,” she says, trying to hand it back. 

“I’m already warm enough, and I have this on, too,” I tell her, pulling at the collar of my uniform jacket. 

Waverly hesitates only a few seconds more before sliding her arms through the holes in my jacket and zipping it up as far as the zipper will go, tucking her chin into the collar. “Thank you,” she says, the violent tremors of her body already starting to decrease. 

I look over at her as she huddles in the passenger seat, starting to warm up, bundled up in my jacket that’s probably a size or two too big for her. I have conflicting feelings, one second feeling awkward and unsure of what to say and the next feeling as if she’s ridden in this passenger seat with me for as long as I can remember. Meeting Waverly feels like a strange combination between meeting a stranger and a long lost friend all at once. 

“So, uh, thanks again,” Waverly says after a bit of silence. “You’re a life saver.”

“It’s not a problem. I’m happy to help. Do you want to talk about anything?” I ask her. “Like maybe how you ended up stranded here?”

“Not really,” she responds, turning her head away from me, clearly closed off. “Sorry,” she adds then, looking back at me with a weak grin. 

“No, no, that’s fine,” I tell her, and it is. She doesn’t owe me an explanation. “Do you want to grab some food? Because I can smell that Thai restaurant from here and it smells amazing.”

“Oh, I...no, I’m okay. I have food at home. But I don’t mind if you want to go get something.” 

“You sure? It’s my treat. Honestly I’m just getting really tired of Mama’s Rosa’s takeout spaghetti. I feel like that’s all I’ve eaten in the past month.” Waverly gasps then, raising her eyebrows over wide, hazel brown eyes, looking like I’ve just greatly offended her. I look at her questioningly. 

“Don’t you say that about Mama Rosa’s! That’s sacrilege!” She exclaims, shaking her head, hand over her heart, looking genuinely upset that I’ve said something even slightly negative about the only italian place in Purgatory. Until her facade breaks a little and I see her trying not to smile. 

I hold my hands up as a gesture of innocence. “Whoah whoah whoah,” I say, smiling, “I didn’t say Mama Rosa’s is bad. I just said I’m tired of it, that’s all. No fault of Rosa’s. Just a few too many nights of take out on the way home is all.”

“Good save,” Waverly says, rubbing her hands together to encourage blood flow to return to her frozen finger tips. “Isn’t this take out on the way home too though?” She asks me after a few seconds. 

“I mean, yes, but some good pad thai just seems like it’s in a totally different realm than spaghetti and marinara, ya know?” I tell her. “Not that the spaghetti isn’t fantastic. Best spaghetti I’ve  _ ever _ had,” I quickly include, voice dripping with sarcasm as I cast a glance at Waverly. 

“You’re lucky I need a ride home,” Waverly says, but her face is all soft and smiley and I know she’s only arguing with me for the sake of it. It’s an easy and entertaining conversation, only furthering that feeling that we have known each other much longer than the total of, say, 30 minutes total that we have. “Fine. I’ll take some pad thai. But only so I can see for myself that it isn’t better than Rosa’s. But do I have to get out of the car?” She asks, looking out the window as if a monster may be waiting just outside to snatch her up. 

I laugh and shake my head. “No, it’s fine, I’ll run in. Do you want chicken or just veggies?” I ask her. 

“Either tofu or just veggies,” she answers. “And thank you.”

“Okay,” I say. As I’m preparing to get out of the car, I realize it’s really dumb to leave her in here, in a running police car. I’m beginning to like Waverly, but I don’t know her at all. So far all I really know about her is that she has a convict sister, an abusive boyfriend, and she ventures into the city and gets herself stranded late at night without having the foresight to charge her phone. And that she likes Mama Rosa’s spaghetti. None of these things speak very well of her character. 

In a move that could quite easily be career ending, I get out of the car and leave her there anyway, deciding that her staying warm for the 5 minutes I’m gone justifies the risk. 

When I come back, Waverly is scrolling through radio stations on the dial of the dashboard. She’s settled on a station that seems to play 80s rock music just as I open the door with the food. I hand her her bag, which she takes and begins to neatly fold the top closed to help retain the heat. I do the same to mine once I’m in the car, and then reach around to place it on the back seat. 

“Thank you so much, again, for the food,” Waverly says. “I totally owe you one. Have you ever been to Shorty’s?” She asks me. 

“Uh, no,” I tell her. “I think my partner has gotten coffee there for us before, though.” 

“I bartend there on the weekends, and I also work a couple of mornings during the week. You should stop by sometime, and I’ll give you a drink on the house.” She offers. 

“I might take you up on that,” I say with a smile as I pull the cruiser out onto the road, taking advantage of a small period of the road not being jam packed with cars at the intersection. I probably won’t take her up on that - I’ve purchased plenty of tequila from the liquor store, and I don’t particularly like the coffee from Shorty’s. But I don’t want to be rude. 

We fall into a peaceful silence as I navigate back through the city streets until finally the buildings start to become further apart and then, at last, the open road is in front of us once again. I’ve identified as a city girl most of my life, having always lived in or near one, but the charms of small town prairie life are certainly not lost on me. It feels like a relief to be heading back to Purgatory, which makes me realize that I might finally be associating the town with home. 

I haven’t felt like I’ve had a home in years, not since before I left for the Ozarks. 

“So,” Waverly says, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Your accent. It’s southern, right? That’s what they call it?”

I laugh softly. “Yes, that’s what  _ they _ call it,” I say. 

“So where are you from, then?”

“I’m from Texas,” I answer shortly after a slight hesitation, purposely not saying which city. It’s happening again; ever since I came back from the Ozarks it’s like I can feel my walls going up as soon as anyone starts trying to get information out of me. Logically, I know Waverly is just making small talk to make our drive less awkward. But there’s a disconnect somewhere and I can’t help but become guarded, as if she’s somehow going to get the upperhand on me through her line of questioning. About where I grew up. It makes no sense, but I can’t stop it. 

Waverly must be intuitive, because I can feel her looking at me for several seconds and then she exhales, going silent for another couple of minutes. I feel like a dick and I know I should say something, but what do I say? I can’t mention her sister or her boyfriend, both seemingly sensitive topics, and I don’t know much else about her. 

“Have you always lived here? In Purgatory?” There. That will do. 

Waverly nods. “Yup. My whole life,” she says. “To be honest, I never even left the Ghost River Triangle until Wynonna…” she trails off, waving her hand dismissively. 

This is a moment, I know, where I could ask her about her sister. I could learn more about Waverly and Wynonna, could possibly even offer Waverly some comfort or insight or at the very least sympathy. You know, what a friend would do. 

But I don’t take it. The internal battle within me is raging despite my calm exterior. Half of me wants to be normal, to be light hearted, to talk to Waverly and to potentially make a friend. I feel drawn to Waverly in a way that tells me we would probably get along very well if I gave it a chance. But the other part of me, the part that insists being alone is safer, that being open and easy going is dangerous and weak, wins out. Self preservation is a very strong force, especially when you’ve fought for your life every day for 23 months straight. 

Several moments later, we’re approaching the Homestead. I pull up next to the porch and Waverly undoes her seatbelt before turning to face me. “Thank you, again, for the ride. And for coming to get me at all. And for the pad thai,” she says, a genuine smile on her face.

“It’s not a problem,” I tell her. “I’m glad to have gotten you home safely.”

She smiles again, then gets out of the car. Before shutting the door, she leans back down into the cruiser. “Don’t forget to come in for that drink at Shorty’s. I mean it!” she says. 

I smile and wave in response and she shuts the door. I wait until she’s inside, and then another moment after just to be safe, listening carefully to ensure everything is okay before I pull away. 

On my drive home, thinking about how painfully awkward that situation was and all of the ways I could have happily chatted with Waverly instead of staring out the windshield with my jaw clenched and fingers white knuckled on the wheel, I decide on Monday I’m going to call a therapist. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still kind of boring...but at least boring with them together?


	6. Unwanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sorry, Waverly. That’s rough.” I nod again, placing the lids on the coffees I’ve poured and rummaging around for a drink tray. “When are you off work? I’m off at 5 today. Would you want to buy me that drink later?” She asks. 
> 
> I blink at her, surprise probably clearly evident on my face at the question. Geez, today has been a whirlwind. I think about it for a few seconds. “Sure,” I say. Do I really have money to be having drinks with anyone? No. But at this point, what will it hurt. “I’m off at 3pm, so I could meet you back here after your shift?” I suggest. “Unless you’d rather go to Mama Rosa’s,” I add, smirking as I place the tray of drinks down in front of her. She hands me her card and I swipe it at the register. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the dealy on this guys! I have a few more chapters written in advance but my chaotic life is interfering with my posting schedule. Since I already missed 2 Saturdays in a row, here is some Monday afternoon Wayhaught. 
> 
> Also: To try and help everyone stay with the timeline (including me!); this chapter is taking place approximately 8 weeks since Nicole moved to Purgatory. The night Champ attacked Waverly was 3 weeks after Nicole arrived, and then the last chapter was 3 weeks after that.

The days tick by after the night Nicole picked me up from the city and dropped me off back home until almost 2 weeks have passed. Her jacket that hangs over the front passenger seat of my car, waiting to be returned to her, reminds me of that each time I get in the vehicle. Now, it’s Wednesday and I’m standing behind the bar at Shorty’s, enjoying the calm before the storm that is the lunch rush during the work week. 

I think back to talking with Nicole on the ride home from the city. She’s all over the place emotionally, at one moment seeming sweet and caring and charismatic and the next she’s suddenly an ice princess, closed off, uncaring. I don’t know what to make of it, make of her, but something about her just makes me feel safe. And it’s not just the fact that she’s a cop. I’ve been pretty isolated ever since Wynonna left and Champ helped to ruin my reputation around town, but I want to get to know Nicole. I’m just not sure she would ever let me do so. Heck, she won’t even come get a free drink, why would I think she wants to be friends?

Not that I can blame her. The Earps have always been the black sheep of Purgatory; even me, decidedly the most friendly of them all. I’m used to people steering clear, and she may well have been advised to do as much. On top of that, I’ve hardly made the best first, or second, impression. Still, I find myself searching for that flash of red hair every time I hear the bell on the front door chime. 

My cell phone vibrates on the shelf beneath the bar counter, drawing me out of my thoughts. When I see the number my heart nearly stops. It’s the jail. Which means it’s either Wynonna, or something has happened to Wynonna. I take a deep breath and answer the call; then exhale deeply in relief when a robotic voice asks me if I’d like to accept a call from an inmate. If something had happened, someone would have been directly on the other line. 

“Baby girl!” The feedback from the shitty jail phone pierces my ear drum to the point that I think my skull might actually implode. Still, I can’t help but smile. It’s been weeks since I last spoke with my sister. 

“Nonna!” I chirp happily, stepping away from the counter and into the back room. No one is in the bar yet, anyway, and it isn’t noon. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah, peachy keen buttercup. Livin’ lavish up in here.” She says, laughing bitterly. I hear a combination of yelling and laughter in the background on Wynonna’s end as she pauses. “Listen, I uh, I don’t have a lot of time on the phone. I actually lost my phone privilege but good ol’ Marky Mark is letting me sneak some time in.”

“Seriously, Wynonna, can you start behaving so I can at least hear from you now and then?” I ask. But I know the answer without her having to say anything. 

“Anyway, baby girl. I have a date for my trial, finally. It’s in 2 weeks. And I have a new public defender, she’s real smart and stuff, and she worked me out a plea deal.”

“Wynonna, I can get you a real lawyer. I’m sure she’s good and all but it really does matter-”

“Waves,” she says, cutting me off. “No. Sorry, but no. Pulling the big sister card here. You’ve already done more than enough. More than I should have let you. I’ll make it up to you when I’m out, I swear, by the way. But I have to handle this myself now.” I know there’s no way Wynonna will ever be able to repay me for the money I’ve spent on her legal fees, but I never expected anything in return. I’d do it all again if I had to. “Waves, the plea deal. Lawyer Lady says if I stand trial I’ll probably get another 3-5 years. But with this plea she’s worked out, I can walk in a year, on good behavior, accounting for time already served in this janky legal system.”

“Oh god. So you’d have to  _ behave _ ? Is this really the deal for you?” I say with a half hearted laugh. I’m joking, partially, but it’s also a valid concern. 

“Yeah, I know. It will be a bummer of a year fo’ shizzle,” she says. “But did you hear that, Wave? I’ll be home in a year. I know that’s still a long time, but we’ve already waited that long so we can look at it like we’re already half way there, right?”

It’s big news, big enough that I can’t process it immediately. I don’t know how to feel. But I know I need to be supportive of Wynonna. “That’s amazing, Nonna,” I say excitedly. “I mean, yeah a year is a long time, but it will fly by. It will feel like nothing and then this will all be behind us and things can go back to normal,” I continue. 

“That’s exactly what I was thinking, baby girl.” She says. I can hear in her voice that she is genuinely happy and hopeful. “Just hang in there a little longer. Mama’s coming home.” Then, “Shit, I gotta go. Sorry baby girl. Love you lots!” She says. Before I get the chance to say anything, the line goes dead. 

“Love you too,” I say out loud, to no one but myself. 

I stand there in the back room as if my feet are frozen to the spot on the floor, letting the news sink in. Part of me is happy, elated, that Wynonna is finally going to trial and that she seems to have an at least half decent public defender on her side. Still, though, I can only think about how long and hard this year has been without her, and another full 12 months by myself, struggling to get by, putting my plans for my future on hold….it’s just not something I’m really looking forward to. At all. I’m dreading it, actually. 

Suddenly, news that should have been joyous, a relief, is about to send me into a full blown panic attack. I’ll have to postpone that, though, because I hear the bell on the front food clang around as someone enters. “Of course,” I mutter, taking a deep breath and trying to compose myself before I walk back up front, trying to slip back into my customer service persona, shove my personal problems to the back of my mind for the time being. 

“Hello?” I hear a voice call out. I recognize it immediately. Officer Haught; Nicole. Talk about shitty timing. 

I go through the swinging door and back to the area behind the counter to see Officer Haught standing a few feet inside the door, holding her Stetson against her stomach as she looks around the restaurant. Her eyes land on me and I can only hope I don’t look like I’m about to fall apart as much as I feel like it. Then again, she probably already thinks I’m a wacko, anyways. 

“Officer Haught!” I say, smiling widely as I lean my hands on the wooden counter. She takes a few steps towards me. “Finally came to collect that free drink?”

“Actually, I lost a bet at the station and I’m here to buy everyone a coffee. So can I take a rain check on the free drink?” She explains, rolling her eyes. She steps up to the counter and sits down on one of the round, spinning stools. 

“Of course,” I tell her. “What was the bet, if you don’t mind me asking?” I say as I start another pot of coffee brewing, knowing I’m about to use up the one I have already made. 

“I bet I could beat Nedley at the shooting range,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck as she does so. “No one told me he’s a dead shot.”

“Rookie mistake,” I tell her, shaking my head. I lay out the cups on the counter, fully familiar with the number of officers typically working mid shift on a weekday, and begin to pour the coffees. 

“So, how are you? How have things been?” She asks me after a brief silence. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

I tense up when she asks me how I am, because it only reminds me that I’m actually not okay. Her arrival had distracted me temporarily, but overwhelming emotions threaten to surge from behind the surface. She misunderstands. “I’m sorry, about that night. I know I was kind of...awkward.” She says. “It’s just hard settling into a new place, and I wasn’t sure what to say, and-”

“No, no, you’re fine!” I cut her off, turning to face her as I lean against the back counter. “I just - it’s just that when you came in, I had just gotten off the phone with my sister.” I tell her. I don’t know why I’m volunteering this information. Officer Haught is nice enough and all, but I don’t know her well. “She’s in jail, and just got a trial date, so I’m just trying to take that all in.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Nicole says, looking at me with wide, sympathetic brown eyes. “I’m sorry. To be honest, I heard about that. She’s been gone a while, right?” 

I nod, swallowing a lump that’s suddenly forming in my throat. “Yeah. And looks like it will be another year,” I say sadly, struggling to keep my voice even. I realize how ironic it is to be talking about this with a police officer, but Nicole seems genuinely sympathetic. 

“I’m sorry, Waverly. That’s rough.” I nod again, placing the lids on the coffees I’ve poured and rummaging around for a drink tray. “When are you off work? I’m off at 5 today. Would you want to buy me that drink later?” She asks. 

I blink at her, surprise probably clearly evident on my face at the question. Geez, today has been a whirlwind. I think about it for a few seconds. “Sure,” I say. Do I really have money to be having drinks with anyone? No. But at this point, what will it hurt. “I’m off at 3pm, so I could meet you back here after your shift?” I suggest. “Unless you’d rather go to Mama Rosa’s,” I add, smirking as I place the tray of drinks down in front of her. She hands me her card and I swipe it at the register. 

Nicole scowls at me playfully as I hand her her card back. “Here is fine, thanks,” she says. Then she glances at her watch. “Shoot, I have to get back.” She stands up from the stool and picks up the tray of coffees. “I’ll see you a little after 5, then?” 

“Yes, see you then.” 

  
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That night with Officer Haught at Shorty’s proves to be the highlight of my week. It wouldn’t take much to take that title, though. I learned on Thursday that Ryan had lodged a complaint about me with the escort agency I work through, and they sent me an email saying that my services would no longer be required by them. Between that and knowing that Wynonna will be gone for another year, at least, things haven’t been going that well. While escorting I had been able to squirrel a little bit of money away, even away from Champ at the time, but I know I’ll burn through it quickly. The plus side, though, is that without Champ around, the money from Shorty’s might actually be enough to make ends meet. I certainly won’t be paying off outstanding bills, but I can at least keep the lights and the heat on, the water running, and prevent late and overdraft fees. I can, theoretically, keep my head above the water. 

Escorting had been a thing I’d only started because of Champ. Now that Champ and I are broken up, it seems fitting that I’ve lost my gig as an escort, too. It’s like a clean slate; as much of one as I can get, at least. 

Then, earlier today, Friday morning, I learned that Champ was back in town. He’d left after he’d been arrested for my assault. I knew that even though I pressed charges, he would be let off the hook, and that’s exactly what had happened. He’d left with his tail between his legs for a few weeks afterwards. Now, he’s back. 

He hasn’t tried to contact me or reach out to me, so I can only hope he’s respecting the restraining order I have against him. Something about living alone on the homestead makes me uneasy, though, knowing that if he wanted to cause trouble, I’m isolated out here. 

There are so many things stress about - money, Wynonna, Champ. Sitting at the kitchen table at home in eerie silence does not help to calm my nerves. Not even the book I have open in front of me is enough to distract myself. 

I take out my phone and shoot a text to Nicole, hoping she’s free and that maybe we can go out and do something. Anything other than sit here and stress. 

_ Hey _ I send. I put my phone down on the table, face up, and return to reading my book. 

A few minutes later, the screen lights up.  _ Howdy  _ Nicole responds. Then almost immediately  _ That’s Texan for hello, btw _

I roll my eyes.  _ You at work? _

This time her response doesn’t come for another 10 or so minutes.  _ Yeah, unfortunately. I got graveyard tonight _ she responds, with a puking emoji at the end. 

Well, there goes that. I glance at the time and see that it’s only 8:00pm, meaning she likely got stuck with a full 12 hour overnight shift.  _ Oof. That sucks.  _ I send. 

I see after a few minutes that she has read my message, but I don’t get a response. A sane person would probably go sit down and turn on a movie and order take out and spend the night relaxing. But I can’t get the, albeit irrational, feeling that I’m being watched out of my head.

So I do something a sane person probably wouldn’t do. I get dressed, throwing on some faded blue skinny jeans and an oversized sweater and topping that with a vest and parka, and head out to my car. The engine roars loudly as it starts, and the headlights illuminate the driveway as I make my way into town. 

I pull into the parking lot of Mama Rosa’s and am able to order 3 spaghetti dinners to go just before she closes for the night. I head back to my car and then drive the short distance down to the police station. I know, thanks to many trips here at night to pick up Wynonna, that there usually are usually only 2 officers working overnight, and Nedley is never there past 8pm. So I have a hunch that I might be able to hang out with Nicole for at least a few minutes, and I can drop her off dinner. 

When I walk through the doors into the station, though, it dawns on me almost immediately that this was s tupid plan. Nicole hadn’t asked me to do this, and I hadn’t asked her if she wanted me to stop by. This is all clearly evident by the way Nicole is staring at me, eyes wide and confused as I stand several feet from her desk with 3 takeout containers in my hands, the smile slowly fading from my lips. 

“Waverly?” She asks, sitting up straighter as she looks around. Only Dolls is here, and he does little more than glance at me before turning his attention back to his computer. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” I say awkwardly, trying to keep my voice cheerful. “I just thought you could maybe use some dinner?” Nicole just stares at me with a blank look on her face. “I, uh, brought some for you too, Officer Dolls.”

He perks up at that, eyeing the containers in my hand. “No way,” he says with a smile. I go over to him and hand him the box and accompanying utensils, which he opens straight away. “Thanks, Earp,” he says. 

“You’re welcome!” I say. 

I go over to Nicole’s desk and set her container down on the corner of her desk. Her eyes track me like she’s wary of every move I make. When they meet mine, I look back at her hesitantly. “Look, Waverly, this is really nice. But you can’t just show up at my work like this. It isn’t professional and we….we barely know each other.”

Any trace of hopefulness that we could spend a little bit of time together fades away, along with the hope that Nicole might actually want to be my friend. After our drink the other night I had really thought there was some kind of connection forming between us, but it’s clear to me now that it was all one sided. Nicole was just being polite, probably just pitying me. 

I realize that in my loneliness I’ve made more of our relationship than it is. It stings. I swallow, and when I talk, my voice sounds robotic, unfamiliar. “Oh, I’m sorry. Yeah, you’re right. I shouldn’t have come here.” I say. “Keep the food though, it’s my treat. Thank you both for all you do. Good night, officers.”

“Waverly,” I hear Nicole call just as the door swings shut behind me. I hear it, but I don’t stop or turn around. I just go straight back to my car, clutching my takeout container pathetically, while tears well in my eyes and roll down my cheeks. I don’t think that Nicole would follow me out here - why would she? She hadn’t wanted me to come in the first place - but just in case, I drive off immediately. I manage to hold myself together until I’m back at the homestead, staring at the dark windows of the house, somehow feeling more alone than ever before. 

I cry until there’s nothing left in me, feeling as though I may rip apart from the inside out as sobs wrack my body, and when I go inside I fall asleep on the couch almost as soon as I lay down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Station 19, anyone? Part of this was loosely inspired by a Carina and Maya scene.


End file.
